Three years ago, my husband planted wildflower seeds in a narrow stretch of bare land between the back lawn and the pasture. The seeds in the canister covered only eight feet of soil. Yet, the wildflowers make a big impact in the little northern corner of the yard.
When they are in full bloom, it’s a good place to toss a blanket on the lawn, stretch out and watch the magical charm of hummingbirds, bees, and butterflies as they dance from flower to flower drinking nectar. It’s a good place to listen to nature’s musical band stir the air with flapping wings while the horizon hangs in silence.
Strange how one can feel calm and comforted where wild things occur.
The wildflowers are drying up now from the June heat. My husband does a good job watering them, via a soaker hose and a simple turn of the spigot. But he is negligent with deadheading. Neither of us has the time or the desire to bend over hundreds of dry flower heads. At some point, though, we’ll take on the task because we love that little patch of rainbow hues and insect habitat. And when we do deadhead the dying wildflowers, we’ll drop them among the foliage with the promise that another generation of seeds will propagate.